Market Day near Paris by Jules

At break of dawn..............

A pebble hits your window

Jerking you to your feet

And you hear the voice of your gypsy man

Calling you from the street.

Then pulling on your old blue jeans

To the cellar you stumble down

To haul out heavy crates of cheese

Into the old red van.

Five minutes for a coffee

Now it's time to hit the road

You sit back with your Gauloises

While your friend there drives the load.

There's not much traffic at this hour

The sky is misty and grey

You turn the windscreen-wipers on

To sweep the raindrops away.

Now you're waiting in the market place

For the man from the old town hall

To show you a nice little corner

Where you can set up your stall.

You hoist your yellow and purple umbrellas

And roll out your cheese on the straw.

Then the sun comes out as you go into the bar

Where you keep watch on your stall from the door.

With prams and dogs the wives arrive

Bustling up the hil

lWith flustered faces and empty baskets

Ready to be filled.

You thrust out little bits of cheese

On the ends of gleaming knives

Calling and enticing passers-by

To taste your merchandise.

The cheese comes from the mountains

Where the air is fresh and clean

Where motherly cows with velvet eyes

Graze in pastures green.

But the housewives like your gypsy's looks

They laugh and blush at his patter

And you sell a lot of cheeses

Which is really all that matters.

Then when the town hall clock strikes twelve

You have to stack up and go

You clutch your greasy money-bag

And you make for the nearest bistro.

You down a bowl of onion soup

With a bottle of dry white wine

Then it's home again to have a rest

And get ready for 'demain'.

© 2000 Jules